Distracted
by Isee
Summary: If this story had a genre, it would be romantic comedy, starring Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye. Tagline: Sometimes we’re too distracted to see what’s right in front of us. Rated T for language and sexuality.
1. Overtime

_Riza is a little OOC in this story to fit the romantic-comedy genre. She is trying to go in a new direction with her life and sometimes gets drunk (as you will see). Besides that, she's just PMSing. There is a fellow military woman who talks with Riza in the Red Gaiden about why she grew out her hair. Arakawa has yet to reveal her name. I made one up for her, but I still do not own Fullmetal Alchemist._

**Chapter 1: Overtime**

At three o'clock in the morning, if any of the residents in Riza Hawkeye's apartment complex had bothered to peek out their doors, they would have seen a surprising sight: their usually prim and proper neighbor barely conscious, being haphazardly helped into her apartment by a fellow soldier.

Two hours earlier:

1st Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye plodded down the long, dim hallway located in Eastern's Military Headquarters. It was late. In her arms she held a stack of files to be put away before she went home. "Almost done," she thought to herself, rolling her shoulders to get rid of that tired, weighted down feeling. A figure some length down the hallway stepped out of a doorway and raised an arm. "Riza!" it called.

"Hmm?" Lieutenant Hawkeye thought. "Who called her Riza?"

As she neared she made out the features and trademark curly black hair, now pulled back, of 2nd Lieutenant Emily Jensen.

"Oh, hello Lieutenant Jensen. You're here awfully late."

"You should talk, 1st Lieutenant Hawkeye, I'd wager you work this late every night."

"Not every night," Riza replied, though she thought to herself she often came close.

"I had to stay late sorting out a mess about an automobileaccident. No one was hurt, but there were damages and no one wanted to take the blame. They even tried to blame the military for faulty road directions or something. Jeez! I'm a field officer, but with the amount of paperwork I do I might as well have a desk job."

"Mmm-hmm," Riza replied, thinking of the amount of paperwork she did everyday.

"Listen, if you're almost done why don't we go out for a drink? Wind down? Complain about work?"

Riza laughed at the last comment. "Sounds great. I just have to file these. It shouldn't take long."

Riza finished sorting out the dreaded files and met Emily in front on the steps. There Emily had proceeded to chatter about this and that and lead Riza to a nearby bar, which catered to many military personnel.

Riza listened to her friend chatter. She liked that about Emily: she was so cheerful and effervescent that it covered up her own, taciturn character. At the bar she downed a few drinks while listening to the tinkly background music and a funny story about the tantrum the owner of an expensive new automobile had gotten into before starting to talk herself.

"I work overtime everyday, and I don't get overtime pay. Fucking military commission."

Emily nodded sympathetically. "I know; the military's so short staffedyet they won't pay us any more. All the rules and protocol about rank and commission are such a nuisance. You work harder than anyone else I know, harder than your boss. At the very least he should promote you to Captain."

"It's not even about the pay! I mean, I work overtime because . . . it's just what I do. It's routine – it's normal. I have no life—" Riza raised her hand for another shot. She downed it and continued, "I spend my time working hard, telling myself that I can relax on my day off, and then when I do get a day off, I don't _do_ anything with it."

Riza paused and contemplated this revelation. Then she raised her hand for another shot. She downed that one too.

"You should get out more," Emily ventured, "You should come out to bars more often, like this one – no, we should go out to a real bar! Dress up, do some dancing. It would do you good!"

"Yeah, maybe," Riza replied, eyeing her empty shot glass quizzically. She started to raise her hand again.

Emily pulled it down. "I think you've had enough," she said gently.

_Umm, I guess there really wasn't that much romance or comedy there. There will be in the future. I promise._


	2. The Scary Lieutenant

_The title of this chapter is a reference to (spoiler chapter 37) when Riza talks on the phone with Roy while pretending to be someone named Elizabeth. So not only is she aware of what people say about her, but she obviously has a reputation (see gaiden **Dog of the Military?** for how she got that reputation). These references have nothing to do with the time placement of this story though. If anything, I'd say this is slightly AU. I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist._

**Chapter 2: The Scary Lieutenant**

Riza awoke the next morning to ringing, from both her phone and inside her head. At first she was confused. She thought all the ringing was emanating from the throbbing at her temples. Then Hayate had barked at her and nosed at the telephone. She picked up.

"Hello?" she queried. When did her mouth get so dry?

"I know a great place: Jazz After Dark. Much better music and a dance floor."

"What?" Riza grimaced. Emily's bubbly personality was a little much in the morning.

"We can go out tonight if you're not working late. Even if you are, it's open all night."

"What?" Riza repeated. This time she had a better idea of what was going on though. "I'm not sure—"

"You said you wanted to get out more."

"I got out last night and now look at me," Riza said as she retreated into her nice, warm, fluffy blanket. "Did I really say I wanted to get out more? Or are you putting words into my mouth?"

Black Hayate looked quizzically at the large, pincushion-like object in the middle of Master's bed, which seemed to have completely engulfed Master. A phone cord snaked out from underneath it.

"You said you had no life, which indicates that you should get out more."

"I don't know," came Riza's muffled response from inside the pincushion. Black Hayate put his paws on the bed (something he was not supposed to do) and sniffed at the phone cord, searching for signs of Master. "After work I'm tired—did I really say I had no life?"

"Oh! But this place has great energy!" Emily said, failing to answer Riza's question, "It'll wake you up right away. Then afterwards you'll sleep really well because you've been dancing and you're relaxed . . . What d'ya say?"

"Mmm, fine," Riza relented. "Now excuse me, I have to go . . . find aspirin."

A hand retreated out of the pincushion and haphazardly found the hook for the telephone. Out crept Riza, scrunching her eyes at the sudden sunlight. She opened her eyes and came face to face with Hayate. He licked her face.

"Good morning," she said groggily, then sighed and extracted herself from her blanket.

* * *

Riza had thrown a black dress into her bag in between swallowing aspirin and huddling with her coffee. She arrived late for work for the first time in . . . she couldn't remember the last time she had been late. Even the Colonel was there already, _working_.

"Good morning Lieutenant," he said, handing her a stack of documents. Was there a touch of reproach in his voice? Damn, why did he have to be en point the one day she was not? Those aspirin were not working. "These go to Brigadier General Godard's office. Make sure he approves the research grants, especially mine"

"Godard, all the way in the basement of the South Wing," thought Riza, "Reclusive State Alchemist in charge of overseeing alchemy research in Eastern. This will take awhile." She sighed. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

After a whole day of running various errands she had finally badgered Brigadier General Godard into approving all of the half a dozen research grants for other State Alchemists, including Edward Elric's and the Colonel's. Still frustrated from the exchange she had changed into her dress and heels in the women's locker room. Emily had already dressed and applied make-up. She pulled at her curls while looking in the mirror, getting them to cascade down the side of her face, framing her right eye.

"You should get new earrings, like the new dangly ones I've seen around."

"Mmm-hmm," Riza replied while attempting to take off her boots and socks and put on her heels without sitting down. She lost her balance but steadied herself against the lockers. She gave up and sat down.

"What's the rush? This is supposed to be fun."

"Let's just get this over with."

"Great attitude."

* * *

The bar did have better music and was conspicuously devoid of blue military uniforms. People moved to the smooth sound of jazz on a parquet wood floor. Riza thought it was a waste of a wood floor. She moved to the bar and ordered a scotch.

"You can't drink all night," Emily remonstrated.

"I'm just trying to relax for now. That's what this is about, right?"

Emily crossed her arms and leaned against the bar, frowning as she surveyed the dance floor.

After a few drinks Riza did loosen up. She started flirting with a few guys at the bar, smiling and laughing appropriately at their jokes and attempts at being charming. Emily felt confident enough about her friend's situation to accept an offer to dance, leaving Riza to fend for herself.

Neither of them saw a dark-haired man enter and appraise the scene. He noted the group of men gathered around a woman at the bar. He couldn't see the woman, but she had a nice laugh and moved gracefully as she touched an arm or a face of whatever man had her attention at the time. Her silhouette withdrew back to the center before turning sexily and approaching another man who was speaking. Feeling cocky, he headed over.

In the center of the group of men, Riza paused. Why were there so many of them? She couldn't tell them apart, but she dismissed this thought and blithely said to herself that it didn't matter. In her right hand was a drink, probably bought for her by one of the men. Her left hand rested on her hip. She twisted around to look behind her left shoulder at another man that was making comments from a barstool. He, at least, looked familiar. She unhooked her hand from her hip and twirled around to face him, sauntering over.

She was standing before this man, rather close, his hand resting in the small of her back when the dark haired man made his way into the circle of men.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye?" he said, flabbergasted. "I didn't expect to find you here."

Riza craned her neck to look behind her.

"Oh, Colonel." She tried to turn around to face him, but the man's arm pulled her closer. She giggled. "I didn't expect to see you here either." That was true, but somehow it didn't completely jive in her mind. She swirled the contents of her glass. "But then again, maybe I shouldn't be surprised." She finished her drink.

"Let me refill that for you ma'am."

"No, I got it!"

The glass was taken out of her hand. She giggled and said thank you.

"Why don't dance with me, baby?" said the man whose arm was around her waist.

Riza looked down at him. His face was handsome, with a hint of stubble. She recognized him as one of the first men she had started talking to at the bar.

"Sure, why not?" she replied, and let herself be led onto the dance floor. Vaguely she registered sounds of groans and "hey!" being emitted.

On the dance floor she wrapped her arms around the man's neck, leaning against him and swaying to the easy sound of jazz.

All of the sudden he was kissing her. He wasn't a bad kisser, but she hadn't signed up for this. She pushed him back.

He started kissing her again, first below her ear, then making his way to her mouth. Riza pushed him away and stalked back to the bar.

"I've got your drink, ma'am," a voice piped up. Riza took it and gulped down the contents, feet in a wide stance to steady herself.

"Hey, baby, what's the matter? I thought we were having a good time." The man was back. He wrapped his arms around her waist, to the ineffectual protests of the drink provider sitting by them. Riza pulled at his hand and tried to shrug him off.

"I don't think she wants to dance with you," a new man said over the man's shoulder, close enough to be threatening.

"What's it to you?" the man snapped. He released Riza and turned to face the new man. The new man looked up at the, taller (1), man, but didn't back away.

"It's just I don't think you should bother someone who's not interested."

"Who says she's not interested?" the man said defensively.

"It doesn't seem like—"

"It's okay Colonel," Riza interjected. She pulled up the side of her skirt and took out her gun. She pointed it at the man, now facing her again. "Back away," she commanded. He did, as did many of the other men gathered around them. Emily came forward.

"You brought your gun with you?" she accused.

"Both of them," Riza replied. She checked the safety on her gun, and replaced it in the holster on her thigh. A commotion was building up.

"Come on, let's go!" Emily scolded, dragging Riza from the bar.

Outside the air was cool and the streets were quiet. Riza took a few deep breathes and thought to herself that night air was as good as cool spring water.

"You're never going to get a guy if you keep pulling your gun out on them."

"He was getting fresh with me. What was I supposed to do? Let him rape me?"

"He wasn't going to do anything. I was there, and so were a lot of admiring men. Why don't you let someone else take care of you for once? Why do you always have to be so . . . forceful?"

"I can take care of myself. I'm not going to let some guy to take care of me just so he can feel good about himself."

"Not even Colonel Mustang?"

"Huh?" Riza asked. She had stubbed her toe on a brick in the middle of the street. A brick. In the middle of the street.

"He was defending you. Why didn't you let him?"

"I said I can take care of myself."

"You can let him take care of you once in awhile."

"That doesn't make sense. It's my job to take care of him." Riza paused in the street, standing on one leg. She wanted to take off her shoe, see if her toe was bleeding. She lost her balance.

Emily caught her. She sighed, exasperated. "Come on, let's get you home."

* * *

_(1) I'm making fun of Roy's height. He's not that short, but he's not that tall either. I like how Arakawa made an unstereotypically handsome character who's not that tall, stocky, and full-faced._


	3. The Night Market

**Chapter 3: The Night Market**

_Umm, night markets are kind of exclusive to ethnic Chinese places, which doesn't work for Germany or Japan. Considering how late Riza works though, I figured they'd have to go to a night market, so it's located in some place Xingese neighborhood. There is actually some phonetically spelled Chinese dialogue in this chapter, from my incredibly limited Chinese vocabulary. It you don't know what I'm talking about when I'm describing clothes or shoes, don't worry. I had to look up that stuff online. I'm fashion-impaired, really. I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist._

The next day at lunch, Emily was analyzing their night out.

"Well first of all, we can't go back there again. The men are probably all scared of you by now. And you were doing so well. What did you think of it?"

"I got drunk again and my foot hurts. It was great!"

"Yeah, the drinking thing we're going to have to work on, but besides that (and the gun) you were great! If I could attract that many guys—"

"They were around me _because_ I was drunk. They thought I would be an easy lay. And this is second hamburger I've gotten and it's still not good!"

The day's special was some weird seafood concoction. Riza had instead grabbed a slice of greasy, but still oh-so-good pizza. Afterwards she had gotten a cheeseburger, since the line for them was so much shorter than the one for pizza. She soon discovered why. The first cheeseburger's cheese had congealed and looked . . . she didn't want to describe it. She had grabbed a second one, but it was cold and burnt: a wonderful combination. Now as she peeled the bun off she saw that while half of the cheese was unmelted, the other half was latched onto the meat as a hard, shiny glaze as in the first cheeseburger.

"Should I get a salad or brave the line for pizza again?"

"Don't give up on me. Things will get better!"

"I just wanted a nice lunch! Is that so much to ask?" Riza stood up and stalked over to the salad bar. On her way she met Fury. He had smiled at the sight of her. He was always so damn cheerful.

"What are you looking at?" she demanded of him as she strode past. Fury turned away, tears glistening in his eyes [1.

Riza was in a better mood later that day when Emily found her sorting files.

"You know what we should do? Go shopping. There's lots of great sales going on now."

"That sounds better. More tame than dancing and drinking anyway. I might enjoy that."

"I've since these advertisements for 30 off on dresses at this store."

"Ad-_ver_-tise-ments? Who says ad_ver_tisements? I always thought it was _ad_vertisements."

"The selection's not great, but they're bound to have something."

"I mean I know ad_verse_ is pronounced that way, but they're two totally different words. They have different roots and everything."

"Nothing there's really classy, but they have some nice vintage stuff. I got this great ruffly red dress there, perfect for salsa [2"

"Did you ever hear a professor or somebody pronounce it that way? Because I don't think—"

"We should find you some nice dancing dresses. You know how to tango? Right? But you should really get a dress some other color besides black."

"I think people who pronounce, say, mature as _ma-toore_ are just being too uptight and persnickety."

"What color would look good on you? I don't want to get you a blue dress either."

"And that's saying something, because I'm known for being pretty up-tight myself."

"Anyway, we'll see when we get there."

She handed the Colonel a stack of reports to look over. He took them silently. He had been silent around her most of the day.

"So . . . Lieutenant . . ."

"Yes sir?"

"About last night—"

"I was drunk, sir."

"Ah."

The Colonel flipped through a report.

"So do you go to that bar—"

"Never again, sir."

"Ah."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They ended up going to a night market in the Xing section of East City.

"This place is great," Emily enthused. There's so much great food, but the stuff they sell isn't necessarily ethnic. I like to come here, but I never have anybody to come with, and it's daunting shopping alone. There are some pretty hard bargainers."

"Well I'm pretty good at bargaining," Riza said. She had heard of, but never been to a night market. It was interesting. A lot of lights and bright colors. Crowds. It was like a festival, really.

At one vendor a woman was selling porcelain dishes. Riza bent down to look at thimble sized tea cups, blue and delicate like robins' eggs.

"Li li kan kan," the vendor, an aged Xingese woman beckoned.

"Oh come on, we're not here to buy dishes," Emily said, dragging her away.

Emily took her to a vendor whose walls were hung with dresses, like so many colorful tapestries. After speaking to the middle aged Xingese woman, they were led behind a cloth at the back of the store by a younger woman, probably her daughter. In the back were more dresses, and a lamp hung from the ceiling.

"Now if you can get a dozen men drooling over you in a simple black dress, think of what you can do with one of these dresses," Emily said.

"How are these different from the ones outside?" Riza asked.

"They're not, you're just here to change, and for evaluation."

"Evaluation?" Riza said, as the young Xingese girl peered into her face. Her hands combed the strands of her hair from behind her ears, holding it up to the light. She ducked out of the back and started conversing with her mother. She came back in a few moments with several dresses.

Riza tried on in succession a spring green dress, a navy dress which Emily immediately deemed "too military," a lavender dress that clashed with her eyes, a white sundress, and a maroon evening gown.

"So which one do you like?" Emily queried.

"I don't know. The white one I guess."

Emily scoffed. "So plain. It's a nice day dress, but we're looking for something you can wear out on the town."

"Maroon then, I guess. Actually I like the style of the lavender dress, but the color's just wrong."

"Yeah. Maroon does kind of go with your eyes."

At this point the teenage girl had ducked out of their enclave and was speaking with her mother. The middle-aged Xingese mother appeared with her daughter.

"Eh, wo men yo ee-ga," she said as she shifted some cloth off an a trunk. She opened the lid and lifted out a copper-colored scrap of cloth and handed it to Riza.

Riza took it dubiously. It was hard to see what kind of shape it would take. The cut seemed weird, and to be honest it looked as if it had been sewn badly.

"Might as well try it on," Emily said, ducking out of the back to browse.

The dress was a bias cut: fabric criss-crossing in front like that of a robe, low-necked. It was a halter-top with practically no back except for two strips of cloth draped diagonally across her lower back. Even with her hair down the effect was impressive. The asymmetrical skirt flared out a little, with a sort of off-center train dipping below her right knee. Riza lifted the fabric layered on the right side.

"This will hide my gun really well."

"Forget about your gun! You look fabulous! That's the exact color of your eyes."

It was true. Her eyes were that copper color, deep brown with tints of red.

"I'll take this one."

"Very expensive," the Xingese woman replied, her daughter having gone out to watch the front.

After some hard bargaining Riza managed to secure the copper dress with a slight discount since she also purchased the white, maroon, and navy dress (she didn't care what Emily said).

"Hey, try this on," Emily said, tossing her a scrap of red silk.

"What _is_ this?" Riza asked. It looked about the size of a handkerchief.

"It's a dress."

"This is not a dress."

"Oh come on, just try it on."

Sighing, Riza slipped her blouse back off and put the handkerchief on. It turned out to be some sort of slip, empire waisted, with the skirt ending more than a little above mid-thigh.

"This is not a dress," she repeated.

Emily laughed. "It looks good on you. You should buy it."

"Yeah, and when am I going to wear this?"

"I don't know – when you're in bed by yourself. Every girl needs something a little naughty."

Riza laughed and changed back into her skirt and blouse. The Xingese woman jabbered something in Xingese and took the red scrap from her hands.

"Well," thought Riza, "At least it's cheap." Then she smiled. There was nothing wrong with a joke.

As they emerged from the store Emily sighed. "Ah, I love shopping. Next: shoes. But first, let's eat. I'm starving."

Riza grinned as they headed into a nearby vendor. She let Emily order, as she seemed to know what she was doing. She arranged their bags (Emily had gotten a few things too) at a table near the pick-up counter. There she encountered a surprise.

"Shei shei," a man in a black suit said as he picked up two large take-out bags. As he turned to go, he faced Riza.

"Ah, Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"Colonel!" Riza exclaimed. He was the last person she had expected to encounter on this trip. In fact, she hadn't counted on encountering anyone at all.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I should be asking you that question. I come here every week to buy my groceries."

"Groceries," Riza stated, giving the bags of steaming, cooked food an appraising glance.

"Well I can't cook myself, so I have other people do it for me. Freezers are wonderful, by the way."

"I see," Riza said with a bemused laugh. The Colonel stood there looking at her, smirk on his face. Riza became awkward.

"So—you like Xingese food?"

"Love it, raised on it. My mother was Xingese."

"Oh, I didn't know that." Though it makes sense, Riza thought.

"So what have you been doing here? Shopping?" his gaze drifted down to the two bags by her feet.

"Oh, yeah. My friend 2nd Lieutenant Jensen brought me here." For some reason she felt awkward having the Colonel looking at their bags. For some odd reason she was paranoid about him seeing the scrap of red silk.

"Colonel Mustang, I thought you looked familiar." Emily came up smiling. She threw Riza a glance, which Riza chose to ignore. "Care to join us?"

"Oh, no, I've got plenty of food," the Colonel said, lifting up his two hefty bags [3. "I've better get back to my apartment."

"Next time then," Emily replied. She turned to Riza, "Our food should be ready in no time." Emily turned back to the Colonel, who was exiting the vendor. "Good-bye Colonel Mustang."

"Good-bye Lieutenant Jensen. Lieutenant Hawkeye."

Riza nodded, "Good-bye sir."

Emily sat down next to Riza and proceeded to stare at her. Riza didn't understand why, so she ignored her friend.

After a rather exotic meal consisting of noodles and dumplings, they had gone out shopping for shoes. Riza had complained that she was going to buy some boots, because her heels were killing her. They had found a vendor where they could sit down and where Emily could find shoes she could squeal over and praise for not being black [4.

"So serious," she said to Riza as she tried on another pair of black pumps. She forced some white sling-backs and a stappy pair of maroon colored shoes on her. Riza relented to these and also found a pair of navy blue d'Orsays. There were no copper-colored shoes though.

"I'll just get black," Riza said.

"No," Emily insisted. "That'll just ruin the look. We'll get you shoes to match that dress."

So they left the vendor without shoes to go with the copper dress.

Next they had browsed earrings. Riza was getting sleepy at this point. Emily was as well, but she sorted through the wall of earrings anyway.

"Let's just get you something besides those studs. Something you can wear everyday, or night. How about these?" She held up a pair. Each had two fine chains about an inch long, one strand shorter than the other. At the ends of each strand there was a smoky amber bead. They reminded Riza of dew dangling from the tips of tall grass. She nodded sleepily.

"You bargain," Emily said.

"I'm too tired. Let's just take them." A tall Xingese man in glasses wrapped the earrings in paper for her.

As they made their way back to their respective apartments, Riza yawned.

"I guess there's a downside to going home sober."

[1 Poor Fury. He does cry a lot though. I count three instances in the manga: after Riza shot at Black Hayate, after Roy laughed at Havoc and told him to get a new girlfriend in Central, and . . . I forget the last time, but I know it exists!

[2 Salsa probably doesn't even exist during this time/place/dimension, but whatever.

[3 It just occurred to me: Roy probably eats lunch at the military cafeteria, and if he stays late all the time (which he probably does) he eats dinner there too. So what he's buying is . . . breakfast basically. Plus that one time Riza spent her whole day off (yeah right) shopping for her groceries she only got one bag. So . . . cooked food is more elaborately packaged than raw food and therefore takes up more space? Guys eat more than girls? Roy likes to eat midnight snacks? I'm too lazy to rewrite it down to a single bag.

[4 No racist underlying meaning intended. Personally I love the color black. But hey, all colors make the world go round. Cue happy music: the wor-old is a rain-bow. With many different co-lors. Yellow, white and black, and brown, make the world go round. Why do I still remember this song from elementary school?

_Wow that was long. And it was mostly girl stuff too. Oh well. Is Emily getting too annoying? In the first chapter I thought she had potential but now she's in danger of degenerating into the stock character of romantic comedy heroine's best friend._


	4. The Lunchdate

**Chapter 4: The Lunchdate**

_Emily redeemed, for one. And another recurring character. This chapter actually ended up being focused on money for some reason (don't read if such talk offends you). That and the glass ceiling. Actually, Amestris' military is probably more diverse, racially and sexually, than the US army. I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist._

Riza encounted Emily the next day at the shooting range, practicing with her pistol. She entered her stall.

"Hey," she said as she loaded her rifle.

Emily fired another shot and then removed her protective earwear.

"Hey," she replied.

"Pretty good," Riza said, glancing at Emily's target. The shots were a little sporadic, but they were all within the first four rings.

"You would know better than me. Do you even _have_ to practice with handguns?"

"I practice sometimes." Riza took aim with her rifle and fired. Top of the second ring. She always did aim a little high.

"Yeah? Do that with a handgun," Emily challenged, holding out her gun.

Riza took it and aimed. This time it was a bullseye. She grinned, as did Emily.

"Get out of my stall," her friend demanded. Riza gave her back her gun.

Emily took aim. "So did you put any of the clothes to good use yet?"

"With four military uniforms in my closet? Unlikely."

Emily fired a shot. Fourth ring, to the top. "Dammit," she said. She switched cartilages and took aim again. "When you're in the military is that you don't really have to choose what to wear every day. That can be a blessing and a curse."

She fired again: third ring, to the right side.

"We don't have to worry about everyday wear," Emily continued. "I even wear my uniform while scrubbing the kitchen floor. It's handy, so practical."

She fired again: second ring, also to the right side. Riza murmured her approval.

"Of course that means we have the excuse of filling up the rest of our closet with frilly, colorful things. Or rather you have no excuse for wearing black on your day off, Riza Hawkeye."

She fired again: bullseye.

Emily lowered her gun and faced Riza.

"We really should put those dresses to good use."

"I don't think I can go out again tonight. It's pretty draining going to bed past midnight three nights in a row, even if it's not from work."

"Yeah, I usually don't go out so much in one week either. When's your next day off?"

"Depends."

"How long is your lunch break?"

"Depends. I have a good amount of discretion though. What did you have in mind?"

"My boss is a stickler for lunch breaks but my day off is tomorrow. Since I've been out on the town three nights this week, how about a nice lunch instead? I'll spend the rest of the day catching up on domestic chores, spend the night reading those novels I've been wanting to get to."

Riza and Emily both liked reading romance novels, almost as much as they liked deconstructing them and pointing out their fallacies and improbabilities. They swapped samples from their selections sometimes. No sense in doubling up on potboilers.

"I think I can manage it."

"Great," Emily turned back to her target. "I'd suggest the white dress. I can meet you in the women's locker room to prep." She fired a shot. "Now get your own stall 1st Lieutenant."

Riza smiled and took her rifle elsewhere.

"Wow, you sure know a lot of ethnic places," Riza commented the next day as she and Emily were seated.

Emily perused her menu. "I try. Actually, shopping is international, but whatever."

"It's these sticks again," Riza held up a pair of said sticks.

"You can order a fork, you culturally-deprived freak."

"So what culture is this restaurant supposed to be recreating?" Riza asked, opening her menu, "It doesn't look Xingese."

"Mmm, some island country in the East."

"Hmm, Breda was station in the East Island Countries. He learned to play this one board game there, junsi or something. He's quite arrogant about it."

"Oh no, it's not a Southern island country, it's up north."

"These prices are outrageous [2."

"Hmm, yes, I know. I'm trying to weigh the balance between paying a lot for something I know is good, and paying a lot for something new that could be even better, or too foreign for my palate."

"I'm going to be paying out of my retirement fund, what with this and last night's shopping."

"Hey, you get paid more than I do."

"Yeah, but do you know my how much more?"

"Yeah, $7000 more a year [1. That's nothing to sneeze at."

"Lousy $7000 for one rank. Divided by 12 that's . . . what? Less than $600 a month."

"Yeah, $150 extra a week."

"I'll pretty much be using up my week's quota with this meal."

"Hey, if I can afford it, you can afford it. Now shut up."

Riza chuckled. "I'll pay for your drink, since you brought me here."

"Great, that's $12 dollars saved. Oh, wait, _you're_ paying. Let me review the beverages list."

Riza was scribbing on a notepad she had with a pen. "I've figured it out. They pay me an extra $2.24 an hour. And that's based on the 60 hour work week. Damn. I know I put in more than 10 hours a day. And when was my last day off?"

"I thought I told you to shut up. You know what you should do? Get a rich boyfriend. That's what women are supposed to do, you know. They're not supposed to get careers. That's why they keep us down on the low rungs of the ladder. To discourage us and to make us get boyfriends, get married, have kids, etc."

"Thank you for the rant. Now what's good here? I've never heard of any of these things."

"You can try the tonkatsu since you're a beginner. The gyoza's good too. Are you getting sake? I'm getting sake."

"Better not. I have to go back to work, remember?"

"Oh yeah, I can just imagine," Emily cackled.

"Though I doubt I could get drunk on the amount they would give me for my money," Riza pointed out.

"At least the tea's free." Emily's eyes raised to look at something beyond Riza.

"Well, well, I thought I saw a military-issue coat."

Riza turned around and saw the Colonel.

The reason Riza had taken her black overcoat was on account of her dress. It was basically two rectangular pieces of cloth sewn over her shoulders and down her sides. There were four slits: two at the sides of the skirt (easy access to her gun, Riza had noted) and two down the front and back of her bodice. Riza had liked her white dress's geometrical symmetry. It was much like her jacket. Too much like her jacket, Emily had thought. She insisted Riza wear another jacket. Riza pointed out that all of her jackets were white. Emily had rolled her eyes and muttered something about how their world was not black and white, and that she should get out and see more of the world besides paperwork. Then she had told Riza to take her overcoat because she was _not_ going to wear a white jacket with a white dress, especially since she had forgotten her white sling-backs and had to wear her black pumps again anyway.

She regretted that decision now.

From behind the Colonel emerged a redhead with deep green eyes. Why was it that redheads with _that_ color hair always had the deep green eyes? She was wearing a spring green dress that Riza knew she could never pull off (she'd tried the color not two nights ago). And even if she did manage to wear a dress of that cut and color she'd never look as sprightly as that girl. How old was she anyway?

Riza turned to glare at Emily as if to say, "Why didn't you warn me?"

Emily raised her eyebrows as if to say, "What? Like I had time?"

Riza turned back around. "Colonel, we seem to be running into each other a lot."

"Well it's not my fault. I've been coming here for years."

"It's Lieutenant Jensen's fault. She brought me here."

"Are you on your lunch break, Lieutenant?"

Riza raised an eyebrow, "Are you, Colonel?" The Colonel was still dressed in his military uniform, actually.

The Colonel laughed. "Well, it's nice to get away from cafeteria food once in awhile. I'll leave you two to your lunch." The Colonel placed his hand on the sprightly green girl's forearm and gently led her to a nearby table. Riza had a perfect shot of the back of his head.

"So this is where he disappears to all the time," Riza huffed, picking up her menu again. This time though, instead of letting it rest on the table, she erected it as a fortress.

"Well he can afford to. He has a Colonel's commission."

"I suppose you know how much that is as well?"

"$100,000."

"That's not all," Riza threw in. "He's a State Alchemist too. I saw his research grant the other day. That's another $70,000."

"You're kidding me."

"Nope," Riza turned the menu page, "Anuual research grant, approved by Brigadier General Godard. I don't even know what he researches."

"Didn't he figure out how to alchemize steam? Invented the steam car?"

"I meant Colonel Mustang."

"Oh. I suppose he figures out new ways to burn people."

"I suppose," Riza peered over the top of her menu to look at the back of the Colonel's head. She remembered when he had had to stay up nights, in Ishvar, figuring out new ways spread fire, to find new fuel after all the oxygen had been used up.

"You know there's a fifteen year old kid who makes just as much?"

"$170,000?!"

"What? Oh. No. Just $70,000 [3."

"Still more than I make."

"And he's been making that much since he was . . . twelve I think. Three years. Yeah."

"Geez, I want to be a State Alchemist. Or I could date one, like that girl over there," Emily turned in her chair to glance at the Colonel and sprightly girl.

"Military fraternization."

"Oh well. Another tool to keep us career women in place. I can look for a rich husband elsewhere."

"Can I take your order?" a tall, bespectacled, dark-haired waiter asked.

"Oh, sure. I guess I'll get the – the tonkatsu?" Emily nodded. "That comes with miso soup, right? And I guess I'll get an order of gyoza too."

"I'm getting the house sake."

Riza threw Emily a dirty look and glanced surreptitiously at the wine listing. Damn it was expensive. Emily finished ordering and the waiter carried the menus away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Here, try this."

"Isn't that raw fish?"

"Yeah, try it."

"I am _not_ eating raw fish."

"Oh come on, its part of the experience."

"Yeah, well _your_ experience can include raw fish and the $40 sake. My experience is just fine, thanks."

The food had been good, but Riza hadn't exactly gotten the nice, relaxing lunch she had wanted. She kept looking over at the Colonel, and the sprightly girl who kept giggling. She would hate to be like that. She tried to remember the number of times she had giggled when she was drunk at the bar.

"This was a great lunch. We should do this more often," Emily giggled.

Riza sighed. She supposed it was only fair that she would have to ferry a tipsy woman home. She didn't relish the prospect though. Their waiter came up again and to Riza's horror refilled Emily's sake cup until it overflowed into its saucer. Emily murmured her thanks and picked up the cup.

"Would you like another refill?" the waiter ask, holding the now near-empty sake jug.

Riza sweatdropped. How many jugs had Emily gone through? "No thank you," she said nervously, pushing her hair back.

"Oh, you're wearing the earrings."

"Hn?" Riza paused, wondering how he knew. Emily was suddenly sober, and was looking at the waiter intently.

"Oh! You're that guy! From the night market!"

"Hn?" Riza was still puzzled.

"The guy who sold you the earrings, Riza," Emily muttered, as if stating the obvious.

"Oh! Well – how are you?"

"I'm doing fine. Thank you for asking. I'm sorry if I'm being too forward. It's just I remembered when you bought the earrings that they really complemented your eyes."

"I chose them!" Emily chimed in with a grin. The waiter grinned back.

"You have good taste."

"Umm, I think we're ready for our check."

"Of course ma'am."

The waiter left.

"Psh," Emily said. "Why'd you brush him off like that. He was totally flirting with you."

"He's just a nice person."

"A nice person who notices the color of your eyes."

"A nice person who remembers two women who paid full price for a pair of earrings."

"He's cute."

"He's a waiter."

"Don't be so elitist."

"You were the one talking about the importance of finding a rich boyfriend."

"Riza, when was the last time you had _any_ boyfriend? Don't get picky on me now."

The waiter returned with their check with a smile. Riza sweatdropped at the price, but she put the money down. Emily would pay her back later.

"Remember, you're paying for the sake."

"How could I forget?" Riza replied as the waiter took the money away. She looked over the Colonel, who was pouring sake for sprightly girl. For some reason this irritated her.

The waiter returned with the change without much more ado.

"How much are you going to leave for a tip?"

"I don't know. What's standard for lunch? This is a nice place though, so probably 20."

"Give him more; he was nice."

"Ah, so that's his motivation," Riza chuckled, and put down 25.

"Don't be so cynical," Emily reprimanded as they gathered their coats to leave. "Not all men are opportunists."

As she left the restaurant Riza glanced back to look at the Colonel. She was surprised to find his eyes meeting her own. He smiled at her and then turned back to his date. The sound of giggling followed Riza out of the restaurant.

[1 Actually, I've never been to a really expensive Japanese restaurant. But if this is the only restaurant of its kind in Eastern, then they're going to hype it up. There is a single Taco Bell in Shanghai. I think it might be the only Taco Bell in China. People wait in line to get in. Oh yes.

[2 I'm using US dollars because I'm not going to get into the whole Japanese/German/Amestris currency fiasco in the making. $7000 seems realistic to me, someone whose only experience with money comes from allowance and a barely-above-minimum-wage-job, especially for a cheapskate military.

[3 I feel like I should explain. $70,000 doesn't seem like that much for research, but it's for an individual person, for whatever their heart desires. I've fanwanked it so that $70,000 is the salary of a Major. I guess since Ed isn't technically a soldier, he only gets $70,000. Major Armstrong, being actually military, gets $140,000. Roy, as Emily pointed out, gets $170,000. That's more than I ever expect to make. I probably won't even make as much as Armstrong either, actually. Meh, me and my bad career choices. Teachers and _good_, socially conscious lawyers get paid shit.


	5. Resolutions

**Chapter 5: Resolutions**

Back at work, Riza's bad day continued. The Colonel wasn't back yet, and she had nearly tripped three times while simultaneously trying to give out orders and review paperwork. Then she realized she was still wearing her heels. The phone rang. Riza heaved a sigh, putting down her papers and picking up:

"This is Colonel Mustang's office. Lieutenant Hawkeye speaking."

"Colonel Mustang still isn't back yet, is he?"

Riza sighed. "You're not supposed to use military lines for personal communication, Emily."

"Hey, 1st Lieutenant Hawkeye, how do you know I'm not calling for professional, military business?"

"Well?"

"I've got nothing," she slurred. Emily hurried to protest as she heard her friend let out another exasperated sigh. "I was _not_ going to go over to military headquarters for a _second_ time on my day off, thank you very much."

"Well I assume you must have _some_ reason for calling."

"Yeah, I was – brainstorming!"

"Are you still drunk?"

"Yes. But I'm still – brainstorming!"

"Well what are you 'brainstorming' about?"

"About what we're going to do about your love life."

"What makes you think there needs to be anything done about my love life?"

"Riza, your love life is even more non-existent than your, well, life. It isn't enough to go to bars after work and have nice lunches. We need to step it up."

"I do have a life."

"And you sound _so_ eager to get back to it."

For some reason the image of sprightly girl giggling in that expensive restaurant came into Riza's mind.

"Okay," she caved. "What did you have in mind this time? And please tell me it's not some place where we'll run into the Colonel again."

"Hey, it's not my fault that the Colonel—"

"Who's on the line, Lieutenant?"

Riza slammed the phone down on its receiver. She turned around to face Colonel Roy Mustang.

"That was Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, sir," she said complacently. Hopefully he would take the hint.

The Colonel nodded, only giving her a slight look as he moved to his desk to begin his paperwork.

After (jokingly) berating her friend for hanging up on her, Emily had revealed their next destination: Le Grandiose. It was a very swanky bar, apparently, and was rife with hot young singles, at least according to Emily. As it turned out, they didn't venture out until more than a week later. They were both busy with work. This time they met at the bar.

"Why are you wearing that dress?"

"I bought this dress; I have to put it to good use."

Emily frowned, but merely indicated that they should go in. Riza's navy blue dress was plain, but still sexy: a form fitting and rather low-necked, with half-sleeves and a short skirt. Emily was wearing a vivid green dress and several dangly chains around her neck.

The inside was impressive: expansive marble floors and columns lining the walls. Potted palms dotted the place.

"Wow, this is a bar?"

"Well it has a bar. Promise not to get drunk this time?"

"Yeah, sure," Riza said, still looking around her. This was a fucking ballroom. chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings and strains of music were being played from a stage some distance away from the bar. In between, lovers danced.

At the bar, Riza continued her observation. There certainly were a lot handsome young men (who looked like they had means. No wonder – it took a lot to buy a lady a drink around here. No way she was going to get drunk), but what she fixated on really were the women. She didn't understand how . . . made up they were. It was a collage of elaborate colors and cuts and hairstyles and makeup and jewelry. Maybe it was just that there were so many of them. They made her feel underdressed. She hadn't bothered much with makeup except some lipstick. She was wearing her earrings again, but she had left her hair down. The result was: no men so much as glanced at her.

Riza wondered how long it had taken to do the hair, the makeup, pick out the dress and matching shoes and purse. She had enjoyed indulging in her feminine side when she had gone shopping with Emily, but here she was just overwhelmed. She wondered if perhaps she wasn't making enough of an effort? Should she be done up like the rest of the girls? Maybe Emily was right about the navy dress.

Suddenly, Riza was angry. Why did she have to look like a doll just for a man to _look_ at her? What kind of messed up ritual was this? Sure, she could handle looking nice, but to spend hours on one's appearance just so someone _might_ come up and flirt with her?

"Why do we do it?"

"Why do we do what?"

"Dress ourselves up for guys?"

"Well, because they like it. It's one way to get their attention. What's a little extra effort?"

"It's more than a little extra effort."

"Okay, I guess it's for the 'whoa' effect."

"What's the 'whoa' effect?"

"That's when some guy, preferably the guy of your dreams, sees you when you look _perfect_ and is like: _whoa_."

"That's ridiculous. Then what? The guy thinks you're beautiful ever after? Or he has that one image of you which he always refers to? That one moment of perfection?"

"Riza, get over it. Sometimes girls have to look nice for guys."

"Damn, I would hate to have to get dressed up every time I went to see my boyfriend. I don't want a boyfriend to dress up for. I want a boyfriend who I can go to when I'm tired and sweaty and grumpy and he'll still give me a hug because he loves me."

"You're such a romantic Riza."

"Maybe I'm just bitter."

They had been sitting at the bar for awhile and no one had approached either of them. Riza thought that Emily looked nice too, nicer than her. They were simply outnumbered and outdressed. When Emily had said the bar was rife with hot young singles, Riza hadn't realized so many of them would be female. Riza had finished her drink, though she had been sipping at it slowly. She sighed. She wouldn't order another one. For one she didn't want to drink herself into a stupor again. For anther thing she wasn't sure if she could afford it.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah – where's the bathroom?"

Emily pointed it out.

As she stalked past couples draped over each other near columns, it suddenly hit Riza that Emily had, again, brought her somewhere the Colonel would frequent. She glanced behind herself nervously, as if expecting to see him there – but he wasn't.

Deciding to retreat to the bathroom had not been a good idea. It was filled with giggling, gossiping women, all sparkling and flitting about like so many exotic birds. Riza closed her eyes and splashed water on her face. Then she realized perhaps that wasn't such a good idea. She sighed and thought that there was at least one good thing about not wearing a lot of make-up as she reapplied her lipstick.

Afterwards she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. In it she could still she the colorful girls flitting about behind her. She forced herself to focus on her face. She didn't think she looked bad, but she looked unmistakably plain in comparison. On so many counts she could have made more of an effort. Should she have put up her hair? (In what way?) What eye makeup should she have applied? (Did she even have eye makeup?) Would a necklace have gone well with the dress? Perhaps a bracelet? She should have worn a more provocative dress.

Riza signed and closed her eyes again. Did she really want to enter this dating game? Did she want to go out there and smile and flirt? What else was there for her to do?

Okay.

If she was going to do this, she would do it all the way. She would put up her hair and buy makeup and find jewelry. That was what it took. And she would giggle and smile and make insipid, awkward conversation. That was her resolution.


End file.
